The morning sunlight spilled across the marble floors as Sofia descended the stairs, her robe cinched loosely at her waist, her smile faint but real. For the first time, she felt steady in this house. Safe. Maybe today she'd make him coffee, surprise him with something simple and hers alone.
But the moment she stepped into the dining room, her body froze.
The long mahogany table was already set—linen napkins folded perfectly, porcelain plates gleaming under the chandelier. And the food... every dish was familiar. Freshly baked bread, smoked salmon with dill, perfectly cooked steak and eggs, even the cinnamon pancakes Adam had once admitted only his mother used to make.
And at the head of the table sat Beatrice, her chin propped on her hand, smirking as if she were presiding over her kingdom. Natalia stood near the sideboard, her apron still tied neatly around her waist, a platter in her hands.
